


for this time does not exist, and will not be recorded

by childofdrought



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofdrought/pseuds/childofdrought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fugue Feast gift for tumblr user yamibree, prompt was “Slackjaw/Geoff Curnow: seduction during the Fugue Feast”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for this time does not exist, and will not be recorded

The bitter tang of his cigarette sat heavily upon his tongue as he stared at the slowly darkening sky. Around him the anticipatory mutter of his fellow officers rose and fell in an almost hypnotic cadence. Slowly, one by one, each voice fell silent. All their eyes trained on the horizon waiting for the first sliver of moonrise.

 

He breathed in, then out, eyes shuttering as the smoke obscured his vision.

 

The sudden roar of noise was almost deafening as every man cheered and the Abbey’s bells tolled, signalling the extinguishing of every light in an Overseer outpost. Geoff just let a small smile curl at the edges of lips.

 

“Ok boys, that’s it, I don’t want to see a single one of your faces for the next two and a half days! Try not to do anything you’ll regret too much once the feast is over !” He finally shouted over the still cheering voices once the ringing of the bells had quieted down.

 

The group gave a laugh and another cheer and started filtering out, some pausing to clap him on the shoulder and give him a ‘Thanks Captain’ or a ‘Happy Fugue Feast Sir!’. Geoff just nodded at them all, not moving until he had finished his cigarette, long after the last man had left.

 

He snorted, flicking the bud onto the ground and stomping on it as he stared at the Moon high above in the sky and well into its course through the Void In The Sky.

 

“Happy Fugue Feast indeed.” he muttered, and turned to make his way own way off into Dunwall's clamorous streets.

 

\---

 

The trick of the Fugue Feast was that whilst the Abbey _claimed_ that nothing that occurred during the time both the Sun and Moon where ruled by the Void would ever count against you, it didn’t mean they weren’t paying attention. A little bit a drunkenness, an indulgence of the carnal nature with as many others of the opposite sex as possible, the breaking of a few minor laws – all those they did overlook and forgive. But others? Like showing a little too much interest in the forbidden arts and older rituals that could be practiced during these hours or indulging in the flesh of your fellow? That they took note of.

 

It was because of this perhaps that the old practice of wearing masks or marking one’s face beyond recognition to ward off spirits that roamed loose at this time of the year continued on when most of the other rituals had been dropped as heresy. It wasn’t just the spirits they were trying to protect themselves from now but the Abbey’s ever watching eyes.

 

Many younger revellers got caught out before learning this, Geoff included, thinking that this was actually time when they could indulge their true proclivities without censor. He was just lucky that the Overseer that had discovered them and confronted him afterwards had been _kind_ enough to ignore youthful indiscretion just this once if he did the proper repentance for breaking the strictures and promised to never stray again.

 

He certainly hadn’t kept that promise but he _had_ gotten smarter, had learnt what ways of dress and behaviour best hid one during this period of celebration by having everyone remember that and not what you actually _did._

By this time Geoff had his disguise down to an art form, although it did help that he avoided the major parties and went to the lesser advertised ones to avoid anyone recognizing his voice.

 

Clicking the tin of paint in front of him shut he gave a slight groan of pain as he stretched out his already sore muscles. He was getting older each year and less able to do the rather flexible bending needed to cover every part of his flesh in the paint without a partner, and was rather considering that some year soon he’d have retire to the more modest and less _heretical_ parts of the feast. But not this year.

 

Wiping his hands of excess paint, he picked up his half-face mask and carefully secured it over his eyes, letting the feathers attached spill over his hair and down to brush his shoulders. A full face would be better to hide his identity but a half one meant he didn’t have to take it off when he wanted to have a little _fun,_ so the mane of feathers would have to do as a distraction from what of his face could be seen.

 

Striding out his apartment door he locked it behind him and slipped the key onto the hook on the strap of his mask. One of the downsides of this particular type of Fugue wear was the lack of pockets. Curling his toes against the cool stone against them he shivered at the typically brisk Gristol breeze that brushed through the air. That was the _other_ major downside. He could practically feel his bollocks try to crawl up and hide inside him from the full body exposure to the night air. His method of disguise was not for the weak fellow, or the modest.

 

Picking a direction, he strode off into the twisting back allies of Dunwall to find himself a feast to suit his tastes. His search, for it was a search when it came to his type of feast, was cut short just a few minutes in.

 

He had just turned a blind corner when he felt the sudden need to stop, skin prickling unpleasantly; every sense told him he was being _watched_. There was a beat of stillness and silence, during which he began to mentally berate himself for being _too_ paranoid, but then a figure dressed to their nines in a way any noble would be jealous of loomed out of the shadows, issuing a greeting in an _alarmingly_ familiar drawl.

 

“Well, well, well. I would recognize that stride anywhere, Captain Curnow. Just what are you doing out here dressed like _that_?”

 

“Slackjaw!” he hissed in surprise, fingers digging uselessly into the skin at his hip for an absent pistol.

 

“Unarmed tonight Captain?” Geoff could feel Slackjaw's gaze rake over him, before settling on a place that left him shifting rather uncomfortably. “Well, not entirely unarmed I suppose. Not that having your pistol would do you any good,” he waved his hand at the sky above them both, “I’m a man free from his crimes right now after all Captain.”

 

“And I’m a man free from the law I serve,” he replied coolly, imagining just for a moment what it would feel like to stride over to the other man and wrap his fingers around the others slender throat before _squeezing_ the life from him for payment of his every crime.

 

Slackjaw shrugged his shoulders in an easy dismissal of the threat in Geoff’s words. “I’ve never taken you as a man to attempt cold blooded murder Captain,” there was a pause and under the shadow cast by the other’s top hat Geoff thought he could see the dart of a tongue swiping lecherously over lips, “but then again I never took you as a man to have such _disreputable_ tastes.”

 

“I wonder, Captain, what heresy you wish to commit that has you dressed so?”

 

A soft _click, click, click_ steadily resounded in the alley as Slackjaw took careful steps towards him, his body posture loose and unthreatening like Geoff was a colt ready to bolt at the slightest breeze. In reply he gritted his teeth and held his place for even unarmed and undressed Geoff Curnow was not a man to back down.

 

“I wonder whose corpse you stole those clothes off Slackjaw. Or is it corpses?” he shot in reply, eyes tracing the splotches of dark brown that rimmed his top hat with a deep suspicion that somewhere out amongst the streets there was one less member of the Hatter’s gang. It would not be the first time Slackjaw had murdered one of theirs before flaunting around in the newly deceased gang members clothes.

 

All his accusation garnered was chuckle.

 

Slackjaw finally invaded that last speck of space between polite and personal and reached out with one leather clad hand to swipe a finger through the swirling design that snaked its way around Geoff’s stomach. He squashed the urge to flinch back at the unwelcomed touch, restraining himself instead to a slight ripple of his stomach muscles at the scrape of the leather gloves. He watched, entrapped, as Slackjaw enveloped his finger with his tongue, producing an obscene popping noise as he tasted the paint upon it.

 

“Quite buttery. Not one of the common blends.” Slackjaw’s eyebrow hitched in an unasked question.

 

“It’s home mixed.” Geoff grudgingly replied, wondering what exactly he could do, short of violence that would surely not go his way, that would get the other man to end this ridiculous confrontation.

 

“Oh you’re quite desperate to keep whatever it is hidden then? I wonder Captain…” Slackjaw’s hand trailed over Geoff’s side in a practically intimate touch and instead of removing the other man’s hand violently he found himself gasping, “ _Ah_ you are of that sort.”

 

Geoff did not have the time to form a denial for the moment the words left his lips Slackjaw’s hand shot out, grasping brutally in Geoff’s hair and forcing their lips together in a violent clash. For a moment his mind was blanked by the unexpectedness of the act before he found his senses and shoved Slackjaw away from him, leaving a bright accusatory stain across the fine waistcoat he wore.

 

“Get your filthy hands off me you rat! Even if I am of that sort I would never live to have someone of your character lay with me.” he snarled, now backing away only to have each step matched, Slackjaw’s predatory expression growing with each accusing and flustered word.

 

“Captain, you cannot say you did not enjoy that - the evidence is standing upright for _inspection_.” Slackjaw slid his hand in the crease of Geoff’s thigh, the evidence in question giving another interested jerk that left Geoff cursing mentally at his body’s betrayal. Despite the man’s positively despicable trade he was undeniably _attractive,_ all wiry muscles and sharply defined features, and Geoff had gone an _awfully_ long time without any partnership.

 

Traitorously his mind reminded him that this was also not the first time he had thought of the other this way, long hunts left his blood pounding and when he had been concentrating on the man for so long he sometimes did not lose that focus even when he took himself in hand.

 

A thumb brushed from where it had rested in his crease to gently up his member, the feeling of warm leather causing Geoff’s breath to hitch and his mind to spiral deeper on its path.

 

His will against the idea of actually laying with _Slackjaw_ of all people wavered for just one moment and in that moment he let himself wonder exactly why the other would even be making such advances.

 

The only reason that came to his mind about why a man like Slackjaw would be doing something like this, aside from to have something to hold over Geoff the next time they encountered each other upon the streets, was that he too was bent. He wondered if like Geoff he was constrained by what his men would think of him if he chose to indulge openly, for surely a mob boss needed to command as much respect as a Captain of the Watch - even if he was able to flaunt the Abby’s laws more freely.

 

If someone had approached Geoff on the street this morning and told him he would not only for a brief moment feel a sense of comradery with Slackjaw but be seriously contemplating buggering the man instead of relegating such things to his darker fantasies he would have had them carted off in a moment. In this moment though he just stepped aggressively forward and plunged his own hands under Slackjaw’s fine silk shirt to get a good grip on the muscled flesh beneath, hissing into the man’s ears as he did so.

 

“Don’t think to hold this over me, your men would lose just as much respect for you as I would be in trouble if I was to let the right ears hear about this.”

 

Slackjaw in reply just stroked Geoff’s member more firmly, breathing a warm “Wouldn’t ever dream of it Captain.” Into his ear.

 

Geoff let out a ragged gasp at that and let his head thunk down on the Slackjaw’s shoulder, mask digging painfully into his face. For one second he let himself just shake with sensation of another man finally touching him intimately again after so long before surging into action. He not about to let Slackjaw gain the figurative, and rather literal at this moment, upper hand.

 

Hands pressing hard against Slackjaw’s hips he used his leverage to swing the man around and thump in against the wall that had loomed just behind Geoff. At his actions Slackjaw let out a breathless ‘ooph’, hands dropping from their very distracting resting place. Taking this as the opening he needed Geoff pressed his full length against Slackjaw, the fine fabrics of his outfit rubbing pleasantly against Geoff’s paint stained skin.

 

Nipping the other man’s neck he let out a small growl as he felt one hand settle on his ass and begin to knead whilst the other reached up and untangled the knot keeping his mask in place, causing it to awkwardly hang off Geoff’s face and for a moment obscure his vision before he, with a shake of his head, sent it flying to the ground. His goal obviously complete judging by the way he raked his lips and teeth over Geoff’s newly exposed skin he felt as Slackjaw’s hand joined the other in its exploration of Geoff’s rear.

 

Instead of letting them continue in a possibly very pleasantly distracting journey inward Geoff reached back to grab Slackjaw’s wrists, slamming them against the wall and biting down hard enough to leave a very visible bruise upon Slackjaw’s neck to emphasis his point.

 

In retaliation Slackjaw wiggled one leg out of where Geoff had pinned them outside his own to press a hard thigh against Geoff’s length, causing his grip to stutter for long enough that Geoff found the world twirling in a dizzying movement that left him now the one pressed against the rough brick wall, trapped.

 

Unconsciously Geoff tensed, ready for whatever retaliation Slackjaw would have for his rough treatment. If there was one thing there many encounters as Officer and Criminal had taught him was that for every strike he took, Slackjaw would be ready with an equal one. His skin sang in anticipation of pain but instead there was the muffled thumb of Slackjaw dropping to his knees; his top hat finally toppling to the ground to rest beside Geoff’s mask.

 

In one smooth motion Slackjaw surged forward and latched his mouth against the skin his hands had so boldly explored only minutes ago. Once again Geoff found his mind blank and awash with the sensation of wet heat as Slackjaw left a trail of fire on his skin. His member ached for that mouth, that tongue, for the only stimulation it found was the slight rough scrape of Slackjaw’s cheek barely brushing against it.

 

The man, damnably, moved further away from where Geoff wished his mouth to rest, leaving a trail of smeared paint. Not willing to just lean back and take whatever the other man would be willing to give him Geoff threaded his fingers through the Slackjaw’s exposed locks, _tugging_ hard to pull him back towards where he wanted him.

 

Slackjaw let out a hiss, an almost audible mutter of ‘So impatient!’ at Geoff’s actions, but surprisingly complied. The curl of power Geoff felt at that was soon destroyed the second Slackjaw’s tongue curled clever around him, for despite not being the one kneeling Geoff was most certainly not in control.

 

Geoff’s huffed breathes soon turned into full out whines and moans of pleasure as Slackjaw expertly demonstrated that there was actually more than one reason for his moniker, swallowing Geoff’s cock whole. Geoff’s mind had a flickering thought about where in Holger’s name the other man’s gag reflex was because he knew from experience you couldn’t just shove someone’s cock down your throat like that but it was washed away in the tide of sensations.

 

Slackjaw swallowed, throat clenching softly down on Geoff’s cock, causing his knees wobble dangerously as his limbs seemed to all at once turn soft at the exquisite pleasure of Slackjaw’s mouth. It was only the other man’s firm arms pressing hard against his hips that stopped Geoff from completely dropping. Instead he found himself folding over the other man with a desperate gasp, hands scrabbling for support and purchase in the fabric that clad Slackjaw.

 

Slackjaw let out a pleased hum at Geoff’s state which just caused Geoff to slide down further as the sound reverberated through his length, the pleasure spreading like static on the radio through his limbs leaving him panting hard and mind skipping completely over thoughts like _dominance_ and _reciprocity_ to a steady chant of just _more, more, more_.

 

He let out a whine of frustration as once again instead of doing what Geoff desperately wished Slackjaw pulled off, blowing a puff of cooling air against Geoff’s saliva slicked skin that left his whole body shuddering.

 

This whine was quickly turned into another shout of pure pleasure as with a deep breath Slackjaw plunged Geoff’s member straight back into his mouth, just scraping his teeth along sensitive skin in a move that sent thrills up Geoff’s spine.

 

Slackjaw swallowed, giving out a low hum at the precise same moment. The static in Geoff’s limbs turned into the roar of the ocean during a fierce spring storm **.** Geoff shot his load straight down Slackjaw’s throat, who took it in a far too practiced move, and felt his limbs actually give out. Slackjaw grunted, taking his weight before lowering him almost gently down onto the cool cobble stones.

 

For a moment he enjoyed the buoyant sensation of a good orgasm encasing him, all worries and aches washed away like blood on sand. Slowly other emotions and sensations began to creep in again; the coldness of the evening air, the ache from where his skin had scoured against brick, the slight flush of embarrassment from coming so easily (Something he would, if asked, blamed on the consequences of a year of abstinence).

 

This last one roused him to clumsily rip Slackjaw’s belt off of him and plunge his own hands underneath the other man’s boxers to grasp the cock beneath. The angle was awkward but Geoff wasn’t going to let the Slackjaw hold not helping him get off over him.

 

It took less time than he would have imagined, soothing the slight sting his own pride had been feeling, as with one, two stokes Slackjaw let out a ragged gasp. His whole body shuddered, Slackjaw slumping against Geoff as his own orgasm washed through him.

 

Letting his eyes flutter shut he allowed himself, now, just to feel and enjoy the press of another hard body against his own and the lassitude that curled through his limbs, no longer needing to fight as there was nothing more to win from this encounter for either of them.

 

He let out a slight huff of displeasure as Slackjaw pulled away but Geoff was not done enjoying himself yet and so continued to rest, ruthlessly squashing any disappointment that Slackjaw did not wish to linger longer. If not for the rustling of clothes as Slackjaw tucked his shirt back in and tried get his belt to close again he would have drifted off again there on the cobblestones, never mind the fact that at any moment another person could have come across them.

 

“Well dear Captain, till next year then?” Slackjaw, half mockingly, asked, sweeping his top hat back on and futilely trying to smooth the creases out of his clothing.

 

Geoff just let his glare reply for him, and a half muttered ‘bastard’ as the man walked off with one last superior smirk shot Geoff’s way.

 

Slowly easing up, stretching out muscles and joint that decidedly did not appreciate where he had chosen to spend his post-orgasmic lassitude, Geoff consoled himself that the joke was actually on Slackjaw. It was not Geoff who was walking away with a very obvious stain on his pants and paint smeared against him near top to bottom.

 

Grabbing his mask he grimaced as he saw himself and conceded that, well, maybe the very conspicuous places the paint was missing from his body was nearly as bad. He however was about to go home to a nice, warm, empty apartment. Geoff was sure Slackjaw would be doing a very long walk of shame past his men before he reached his bed. Letting that thought cheer him he slowly made his way back towards his apartment, legs wobbling in a way that showed very clearly what he’d been up to the whole way.

 

 _That_ had certainly been enough festivities for him.


End file.
